She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. “I too am asked.
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